The Gate

He remembered every word she had said as if it were yesterday. He remembered her young, perfect skin, soft under his gentle caresses, and he remembered the well earned lines on her old face. He felt her, saw her, heard her and smelt her. His senses were filled with her presence.

The day he first met her he had found boldness in her eye and introduced himself. The last day he had found courage in her smile as she had talked to him, comforted him. He knew their separation wasn’t going to be long, he just had a few last odds and ends to take care of, a few lose strings to tie before he could join her.

“When you cross the river there will be a path up the hill. At the top, an old fence in an old field. I’ll be there, at the gate, waiting,” she had said,giving his hand one last squeeze before they parted.

And finally he was there. He had crossed the river and found the flower-lined path. There was an old stone fence in an overgrown field. As he approached the battered gate he saw her, younger than spring, older than winter. He paused at the gate, and stared breathlessly. For some reason the gate scared him. He knew that after the next step there would be no going back, no return. She smiled and his heart melted all over again, as if it here her first smile.

“Margret,” he said and then passed the gate.

Tears running down her perfect cheeks, she hugged him tight and then kissed him long. After a seeming eternity she took his hand and they walked away from the old gate.

“He’s gone.”

“He looks so peaceful, so happy, the large smile on his face.”

“Of course he’s smiling, he said Grandmother’s name in his last breath. Now he’s with her.”

“Yeah, I’d like to think so too, especially today, Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh I know, Grandmother Margret wouldn’t let him cross over without her being there to meet him. She was the brave one, the strong one. Don’t worry, she’s with him, they’re together again.”